


Another day in the summer month

by orphan_account



Series: Recovering Geezers [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fiddlestan Week 2k15, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Fiddlestan Week 2k15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Music

There was what the kids were listening to today and there was music. The boy bands and icelandic pop stuff bad taste. Now the stuff they used to play at Juke’s Joint back in the day, that was real music. No synthesized computeramjigs and definitely no hippie shit.

No banjo strings either. Not that Stanley hated the banjo. His ears grown accustomed to the twangs that came from housing a former hillbilly kook. Every other day it seemed Fiddleford would play his banjo on the back porch, staring into nothing. The man said it helped him think, a notepad and pen in the breast pocket of his store-bought shirts, always for the most part untouched.

It became tradition for Stanley to stand on the back porch while Fiddleford started thrumming. At first it was to complain about the racket but then the kids ganged up on him and so then it was to glare at the back of the older man’s neck. When that didn’t work he just started relaxing. A pitt cola in his hand, newspaper in the other, he sat on the worn brown sofa while Fiddleford sat on the stairs, his nimble fingers plucking so fast that it should’ve been in the Guinness book.

Even though the music was fast paced and in no way relaxing, Stanley used banjo time as nap time. He was getting old and no one would blame an old man for a nap so he settled down on the couch, his feet having to curl a little so he could fit, and placed his newspaper over his face. This particular time, he dozed in and out. Never quite getting rid of the outside world’s noise: the birds chirping, the constant rustling that surrounded nature, the ruffling that was his breath against the newspaper covering his face and the banjo’s strings. All his senses heightened with his eyes closed.

He didn’t ‘wake up’ from his zen state until the banjo stopped and he felt a presence beside him.

“Stanley?” Fiddleford asked, his voice sounding much closer than the respectable distance between the stairs and the couch.

“Stanley?” Fiddleford asked again, a little louder. Stanley, tired and eyes still closed, said nothing.

“I-I just wanted to say thanks, fer lettin’ me stay in your house. It was awfully kind of you to take me in.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Stanley was glad for the newspaper covering his face even though it was kinda heavy.

“A-and I wanted ta say-” deep breath - “I wanted ta say I luv ya. I know it ain’t sound so flattering comin’ from me but- just wanted ya ta know.”

And with that the floorboards creaked and the banjo started playing again. It even started sounding mournful which didn’t seem possible.

Stanley ripped the paper from his face and sat up, his old bones creaking. The banjo chords that played perfect up to that point, started sounding wrong as Fiddleford twisted his neck so fast, it surprised Stan.

“Oh Stanley, you’re up.” The old banjo player giggled like a chipmunk, high and still sounding a bit mad at the edges. “Hope I didn’t wake ya.”

Stanley made a show of yawning, putting his pinky in his ear and twisting, all the while aware of Fiddleford’s loosening shoulders. Flicking off a bit of wax from his nail, he said, “You know if you wanted to confess to me Fiddlesticks ya could’ve done it when there wasn’t a newspaper on my face.”

Ignoring the sputtering from a certain hillbilly, Stanley stood and stretched then went over to kiss Fiddleford as he sat there stunned. It started chaste, a press of lips against lips, and when he moved back and Fiddleford was still babbling , he went for the deep end. It was nice. Licks and teeth and a bit of drool but still nice.

The banjo lay forgotten on the grass and the couch had the imprint of two bodies by the time they were done.


	2. Outside Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Day two of Fiddlestan week.

“Is it- is it on?” Dipper asked. Mabel, behind the camera, gave a thumbs up.

“Ahem, alright. Welcome back to Dipper’s guide to the unexplained number #215.” He held up the cardboard that featured as a title card for all his videos and then put it down, staring at the camera with intensity. “Old Man Mcgucket and Grunkle Stan’s mysterious past.”

“Didn’t they say they were old friends?" Mabel asked. "Doesn’t sound so mysterious to me.”

“I’m telling you Mabel, there’s something they’re not telling us and I intend to find out.”

“Or you’re just being a paranoid nancy again. People can be old friends without mysterious pasts.”

Ignoring his sister, Dipper went on, pacing as he spoke. The camera focused on the cork board behind the pacing child, full of red string and pictures of his grunkle and the new household guest. Littered throughout the board was a symbol of an x over a single eye. “You see Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket, formerly known as Old Man Mcgucket is also the creator of the Society of the Blind Eye, a now disbanded cult responsible for the erasure of paranormal memories from the townsfolk of Gravity Falls. He, in his attempt to cure the townsfolk- Mabel!”

“What?” Mabel asked, the camera turned in her hands so it pointed at her as she lip synced to her brother’s conspiracy. Next to her, Waddle’s oinked.

“Waddles doesn’t like the long winded speeches and so I thought I should spice things up a bit.”

“Focus Mabel. We have a mystery to uncover.”

Mabel rolled her eyes, “Yeah yeah then let’s get to the mystery already.” She hopped from foot to foot, the camera jiggling with the motion.

“Okay okay. Let’s go then.”

——————————————–

“What are we supposed to be looking for again?” Mabel whispered as they peeked into the kitchen where Grunkle Stan was making breakfast and Fiddleford was setting the table. The older men weren’t saying anything but it didn’t seem awkward, just another routine day of summer.

“Hints, secret sign language. Remember when Mcgucket used ham bone? They might be doing something similar when we’re not looking. They’ve got a secret I know it. Why else wouldn't Stan have told us that he knew Mr. Mcgucket before?"

Mabel shrugged, the sleeves of her sweater were a little long so it flopped about. “I don’t know. Why did Grunkle Stan pretend he didn’t know us when we broke that expensive looking thing at the mall?”

“Wait- wait I think they’re using hand signals-” Dipper zoomed in to Grunkle Stan whose hand had lifted from the frying pan. The hand lifted, going towards his nose-

“Dipper, maybe I need glasses but I think Grunkle Stan’s just picking his nose.”

They both made sounds of disgust as he wiped the snot on his boxers.

“And he’s cooking our breakfast too. Ew gross.” Dipper shuddered.

Fiddleford, seated at the table and reading the newspaper, put it down and asked, “Should I wake the twins?”

“Nah. I got it.” Grunkle Stan said. He turned off the stove and turned to the table, using his spatula to fill the plates. While filling Fiddleford’s plate with eggs and bacon, he yelled, “KIDS WAKE UP. ITS BREAKFAST TIME. KIIIIIIIIIDDSSS.”

Everyone clapped their ears over their heads. Dipper almost whacking his sister with the old camcorder that he had strapped to his palm.

“Did’jya have to do it next to my ear?” Fiddleford grumbled, rubbing his left ear and glaring at the smug bastard that was Stan Pines. Stan just shrugged, whistling through a smirk while Dipper and Mabel walked into the room. When Dipper put his camcorder next to his plate of breakfast Grunkle Stan groaned.

“You’re not doing another one of your mystery videos are ya kid?” He said, stabbing at his bacon, he pointed his fork at Dipper in a warning manner. “Remember last time.”

“Last time?” Fiddleford asked.

“Don’t ask.” All members of the Pines family stated. Stan the most deadpan of all.

And in that moment, Mr. Mcgucket and Grunkle Stan looked at each other over steaming coffee and . Seated next to each other Dipper couldn't tell if they were doing hand signals under the table but that look. That look lingered too long, some inside joke - some _secret_ \- passing between them.

————–

Mabel sighed, a warm but not too warm summer day wasted prowling around after Mr. Mcgucket. After breakfast ended Dipper gave her another camera and instructed her to run around after Mr. Mcgucket while he was going to sneak after Grunkle Stan. For most of the morning Grunkle Stan had been doing tours and Mr. Mcgucket did nothing but watch TV and putter around the house, his choice of hobbies ranging from staring at the forest surrounding the cabin and doodling in a little notepad.

Now Mr. Mcgucket was in the gift shop looking to get something from the vending machine after the Mystery Shack closed. He looked around once or twice before pushing the buttons, pausing midway through and scratching his head as if he’d forgotten something.

“That’s silly.” Mabel whispered, from her hiding place behind the counter. “He forgot to put in the quarters.” Digging into the pockets of her skirt (skirt with pockets are the best skirts) she came up with some bubblegum, a paperclip, some lint, and-

Bingo, a quarter.

Pocketing her camera she approached Fiddleford who was scratching his chin with an intense look of concentration on his face. She recognized that face. He had it a few times when he was trying to remember something, like where he last put the cereal box or if he brushed his teeth or not.

She coughed and giggled afterward when Fiddleford yelped and jumped, turning to her with a spooked stare.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” She said, bringing her hands from behind her back to show a single quarter. “Boop.” She tiptoed and inserted the coin into the slot, a few clinks signalling the quarter falling through the machine. A green “25 cents” scrolled through the small monitor.

“Silly me.” Fiddleford said. Mabel stared at Mr. Mcgucket, waiting for him to punch a combo. Fiddleford stared at the glass window for a few seconds too long then inserted a letter and number at without even looking at the buttons.

What came out was, “Toffee peanuts? Grunkle Stan loves those!” She looked from the bag to Fiddleford, who held the aluminum bags in such a way that they crinkled.

“Y’know Mr. Mcgucket, if you wanted toffee peanuts, you could’ve taken some from Grunkle Stan’s stash. He doesn’t mind.” She shrugged, “Much.”

“No, no that’s alright darlin’.” Fiddleford smiled, “’Sides who doesn’t like some toffee peanuts?”

—————————————-

“Ugh.” Dipper said as he sprawled across his bed. “Grunkle Ford was a dead end. All he did was watch that Duchess movie on TV and fart a lot.”

“The Duchess Approves? I love that movie!”

“Not helping Mabel.” Dipper turned to his side, watching his sibling doodle with one of those gel pens with a feather on top. “What did Mr. Mcgucket do all day?”

Mabel hummed, her feet kicking up and down as she wrote stuff in her scrapbook. “Nothing really. He kept doing yoga poses in the living room to help with his back and then he played banjo on the back porch, for like an hour. Oh!"

Dipper sat up, his hands going toward the journal next to his head. She continued, "And he got some toffee peanuts from out of the vending machine but forgot to put in some change so I lent him a quarter.”

“ _Uggghh_.” He groaned, throwing his arms in the air, the third journal sitting unmoved on his pillow. “How are we supposed to find out about their secret pasts if all they do is sit around and do nothing?”

“You know what we have to do right?” She asked, closing her scrapbook.

“What?” He replied, sitting straight up, “Sneak down and spy on them some more?

“Nu uh.” She said with a shake of her head, “We have to ask.”

——————————

“Dipper why’d you bring the camera?” Mabel asked as they walked down the stairs.

“You never know when they might start breaking out in secret code. This way I can review the tapes and try to decipher it.”

Mabel paused on the stairs, her head tilting back and a deep-throated sigh escaping her lips. “Not everything is all secrets and stuff Dipper-”

A huge laugh interrupted her words and a small almost giggle followed. Both twins looked at each other and then crept down the steps with more caution, poking their heads into the darkened living room.

There. On the single armchair was Grunkle Stan but on top of him was Mr. Mcgucket, sitting across Stan’s lap like it was nothing, his legs resting across the arm of the chair. There was a blanket thrown over their lower halves and some comedy show on the television. Mabel didn't care to try and catch the name of the show. Too busy noticing the two meaty arms curled around Fiddleford's waist.

“Oh my gosh.” Mabel whispered.

“I don’t get it.” Dipper said, his recording video camera pointed at the two only illuminated by the TV’s poor light. Something in his brain was turning telling him there was more to this scene but it was slow going.

“Oh my _gosh_.”

“Mabel can you be quiet, they’ll hear us.”

Fiddleford leaned in a bit more towards Grunkle Stan’s chest, the top of his head reaching Grunkle Stan’s chin. Eyes still focused on the screen, Stan placed a kiss on top of his forehead, leaving Fiddleford with the softest of smiles.

Mabel, next to a shell shocked Dipper, had, in contrast, the largest grin on her face. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh. Oh. My. Gosh.” Mabel squealed for the whole house to hear. She jumped up and down, any thoughts of incognito gone as she pointed at the two on the couch, “You two are boyfriends!”

There was a bit of a fumble as Fiddleford tried to escape the compromising position ten seconds after the fact. In the end the blanket that was covering  them ended up doing a better job covering Stan's head while Fiddleford stood ramrod straight next to the armchair. His expression screamed guilty. Grunkle Stan, dragging the blanket off his face and disposing it to the floor, grumbled about a ruined movie, his arms crossed and staring at the kids.

“O-Ok that’s all for Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained #215 Grunkle Stan and Mr. Mcgucket’s Mysterious Past.” Dipper said, his smile shaky and his eyes drawn to the angry Grunkle Stan over his shoulder. “Goodbye.” He said as he fumbled to turn the feed off.

“You found out about our 'mysterious past'. You happy kids?”

“I am!” Mabel said, bouncing on the tip of her toes, her grin so wide that you could almost see all her braces.

“Uhhhh…” Dipper said, his eyes darting from his Grunkle to the man who was living in a junkyard just a short few weeks ago.

“Alright,” Grunkle Stan said, standing from his seat. He turned off the TV with a click of the remote, “Off to bed you two.”

“But I have so many questions.” Mabel pleaded, her eyes getting even wider, if that was possible, and her two tiny hands slapping against each other in a praying position. “How long have you been together? When was your first kiss? What was your first kiss like? Are you gonna get married? Can I be the flower girl?” She asked in a fast pace tone, her voice getting quicker as her Grunkle shooed them up the stairs.

“Tomorrow kid, promise. Just go to sleep before I ground you two for spying on us all day.”

“C’mon.” Dipper said, tugging on his twin’s arm. “We can ask them tomorrow.”

Mabel pouted but obliged, turning to stare at Grunkle Stan with a narrowed eye look, conveying her thoughts if he were to break the promise. Then with a flip of a heel she was bouncing up the steps to their room. Stanley waited until he heard the twin's door close shut.

At the click of the door he sighed and turned around to find Fiddleford at the bottom of the stairs, his brow furrowed and his chapped lips turn into a little frown.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I-I’m sorry for-”

“Stop right there Fiddles.” Stan said, “The kids were going to find out sooner or later. Better they find out like that then us with our pants down.” He approached the shorter male, giving a swift peck on the lips, “Literally.”

There was a silence, then, “I almost gave away the basement.” Fiddleford blurted, his hands messing with the hem of the sweatshirt that Mabel knitted for him; yellow yarn and a banjo in the middle. “I didn’t realize she was watching me and I reckon the only reason she didn’t see is because I forgot the combination halfway through. I-I bought a bag of toffee peanuts.”

“Good choice.”

“Good choice? That’s it?” Fiddleford asked, his glasses slipping from his nose from the tilted look he was giving Stan.

“Ya need to stop being so hard on yourself Fidds.” Stan said, his hand reaching to intertwine with his boyfriend’s.”Now c’mon, time for bed.”

“W-wait,” Fiddleford said as they passed the guest room. “Where’re we goin’?”

“Well seeing as how the kids know. I thought we could just do away with the whole ‘guest room’ stuff and have you move in my room. Unless…?” Stanley left off, looking back at a flustered Fiddleford, his bushy eyebrow raised in question.

Fiddleford felt foolish for blushing like a youngster but welcomed the warm tingling feeling that came with it. Squeezing Stanley’s hand, he nodded then let out a little ‘eep’ when Stanley laughed and lifted Fiddleford bridal style. Fiddleford felt the strong muscle behind body fat, felt the vibrations of his lover’s chest as he laughed, deep and resonating through his whole body. He clung to Stanley’s neck,  as the other laughed as he kicked his own door in and threw Fiddleford to his bed.

“Y’know, that stunt of yours is gonna give you a bad back in the mornin’.”

“I’ll live with it.” Stan said as he crawled into the bed after Fiddleford. Like a tiger, he pounced, kissing the years out of Fiddleford and then moving to kiss his cheeks, his neck, the edge of his collarbone. Giddily, Fiddleford returned the kisses, his nose, his ear, his left eyebrow.

When they settled down it was almost as if those thirty years never happened.


	3. AU

In an alternate universe you become a boxing champion. People pay to see you wipe the floor with some poor guy’s blood staining the ring. In an alternate universe there’s sweat on your face and abs on your stomach and you can go wherever you damn well please but you decide to move with your brother to some small ass town in Oregon, USA. In an Alternate Universe it’s you and him and some poor assistant guy your brother hired who’s not that bad looking. In an alternate universe.

In an alternate universe you meet him as a kid. His hair is far from gray and his southern accent is thick like honey but he doesn’t think your brother’s six fingers are weird so he’s okay. You grow up together, the three of you, and the love crawls. It crawls until it runs and it runs until it leaps right out of your throat. Then it stops when your lips meet and makes up for it double time. It runs until the end of your grave and overflows even beyond the confines of your coffin.

In an alternate universe you don’t meet until you’re older, when you’re hair is gray and his hair is all but gone but for his long white beard. His mind is gone and that’s all you know about him until further revealing labels him as your brother’s former lab assistant. At that moment, whether the old man knows it or not, you are kin. When you offer him shelter and food, eventually it becomes more.

In an alternate universe he takes you in when no one else would. You wake up in a stranger’s couch and when his face hovers over you out of nowhere you punch him in the face and try to leave in the Oregon winter. He convinces you to stay though and it’s the best decision of your life. Finding out that he worked for your brother and him forcing you two together isn’t that bad either.

In an alternate universe he doesn’t lose his mind but instead clings to you in lieu. In an alternate universe you two struggle but you succeed. In an alternate universe.

So many alternate universes.

 

 


	4. Memory Lane

“So…”

“So?”

Her grin was so wide that everyone could almost see the sparkles in her eyes. The Pines family, including one Fiddleford Mcgucket were all in the living room. Mabel sat next to the foot of the armchair like a child begging for story time. Dipper sat next to her, more subdued, a pen and notepad in both hands.

“So when are you two going to tell us about your secret romance!” Mabel burst, her eyes flirting between her grunkle and her grunkle’s boyfriend who seemed to be getting redder by the minute.

“Look, kid…” Grunkle Stan said, his hand waving in a circling motion, “we’re old. Old people don’t have the best track record with memories.” He jerked a thumb towards Fiddleford who chose to sat on the bony dinosaur head instead of on Stan’s lap, much to the chagrin of Mabel and Grunkle Stan. Not so much Dipper. “Especially this guy.”

“It doesn’t have to be an entirely accurate retelling,” Mabel explained, scooting closer to the older men.

Dipper raised his hand, his hands already ink stained at nine in the morning. “Uh, I would like it as accurate as possible please.”

Fiddleford and Stan glanced at each other, then towards the kids. Mabel was bouncing up and down, with a grin that would've been sweet if it didn’t come with the backstory of her waking them up at dawn o’clock with the exuberant shouting of “STORY TIME. STORY TIME STORY TIME. WAKE UP ITS STORY TIME.” (Note: Never let her have mabel juice again.) And focused on them in a studios manner, Dipper had his pen poised over paper like a journalist or Toby Determined, whatever his job was. Maybe some kind of hobo. And not the handsome memory-dead scientist kind.

“Well,” Grunkle Stan said, “where should we start?”

“How you met! How you met!” Mabel demanded, pulling her knees up and squeezing them tight, almost rocking from the energy in her body.

“That would be good.”

“Uhh.” Fiddleford said, scratching near his left elbow. His fingers twitched and he tried not to rake his hands through his hair; little tufts were just starting to grow back. He glanced once again towards the kids with a sheepish expression, conveying a quick, “I forgot”.

He turned to Stanley and for once was glad his boyfriend was a well-versed liar.

“We met through a mutual friend.” Stan said, scratching at his chin.

_“Stanley, this is my research assistant Fiddleford Mcgucket. Fiddleford, meet my twin brother Stanley Pines.”_

“Do you remember who it was?” Dipper asked.

“Nah.” Stanley said, the lie sounded so natural Fiddleford was almost sure that his memories were wrong. “Just some old acquaintance of mine, haven’t seen in him in years. Last I heard there was something ‘bout a car wreck. Honestly, with the way that guy acted, I think that might’ve been karma or something.”

.

_Flames. Stanley watched as flames enveloped the car he jacked from outside the local diner. There wasn’t anybody inside but if everything worked out right the many identification papers in the car will have Stanley Pines in the obituary section of the newspaper._

_Hopefully he could start anew._

_._

Mabel gasped, a pained whine coming from her throat, “That’s terrible. I hope they’re alright!”

“I’m sure they’re fine, sweetie.” Stanley said, not meeting Fiddleford’s stare though he knew if he would, he'd only see confusion in murky blue eyes. “Now where was I?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what year did you meet Mcgucket?” Dipper asked, his little hands already scribbling away.

“I dunno know." Stan shrugged. "Late 1970s? That decade's just a blur in general."

Dipper started chewing on his pen, mumbling, “Hmm, so between 1970 and 1982 the author came to gravity falls. I wonder…” and then he went off to scribbling again, the tip of the pen shiny from Dipper’s saliva. Next to him, Fiddleford shifted  on the bony dinosaur head.. “Grunkle Stan, while you were in Gravity Falls did you maybe see any mysterious newcomers between the years 1970 and 1982? Know about Mr. Mcgucket working for some researchers? Someone with six fingers perhaps?” The kid asked, clicking on his pen with every syllable, his eager eyes drinking in his grunkle's every move.

“No.” Stan said, and almost felt guilty when Dipper deflated at the answer. Almost. “Don’t know anything about a six fingered guy but I’m pretty sure Fiddleford was working on computer stuff in his garage. Weren’t you nerd?”

“Oh yes. I remember I was making computers.” Fiddleford closed his eyes as if trying to remember, his hands coming up as if he were about to craft one from thin air, “It was-”

.

_It was designed to help along the technological evolution. With a screwdriver in one hand and a motherboard in the other he was going to revolutionize modern technology and create a new generation. A brilliant idea if he did say so himself, and a nice distraction from his recent divorce._

_But then, without even trying, a new way to forget came in the form of a visiting researcher in need of technological help. What he was theorizing seemed impossible but he paid well and what greater way to forget than to bury himself in science fiction-like math?_

_._

Mabel, still so energetic, burst in, interrupting whatever words that were about to come out of Fiddleford’s mouth, “What about your first kiss?”

“Oh that.” Stan said with a sly grin. “You see Fidds and I were-”

“You can’t tell them that story!” Fiddleford hissed.

“Tell us! Tell us!” Mabel chanted.

“Tell us! Tell us!” Dipper joined in, his own grin forming at the tease of a juicy story.

Grunkle Stan laughed and shushed them with a flattening gesture of the hand. He turned to Fiddleford, his grin as mischievous as a plotting Gideon. He said, “Well, since it seems like you actually remember this story, you should tell it.”

Fiddleford huffed but complied, with a short, “It was all yer great uncle’s fault.”

“You gotta explain more than that.” Stan said with a short laugh.

“Stan thought it was a good idea to pick a fight with some beasts of men.”

“They started it.”

“Oh shush you. You started it and you know it.”

“They were pickin’ on you!”

.

_“Hey it’s McSuckIt!” Some rapscallion said, his pants way too low and his smile that shade of nasty that seemed to pop up more these days._

_“Hey what did you say about my friend?” Stanley asked. He took a step forward, his fist already raised and shaking at the young adult barely out of teenagehood._

_“Just ignore them Stanley.” Fiddleford said, placing a hand on Stanley’s left arm._

_“Go back to Kentucky ya hick!” One of the kids said as the others laughed._

_Stanley shrugged off the hand on his arm and approached the ring leader with a pointed finger. Poke. Poke. Right on the guy’s chest. “The only dumb bastard that’s gonna call Fiddleford names is me. Got it?”_

_The kid pushed back, his lackeys behind him punching their fists as if they were in some dumb after school sitcom. “I ain’t afraid of you.”_

_“Good._

_._

“I said, ‘Ignore them’ but did’ya listen? No sirree. And then afterward, when I wanted to go home your great uncle thought it was a good time for a make out session. While he was still bloody.” While Dipper grimaced at the thought of his grunkle and Mr. Mcgucket and Mabel’s expression grew more ecstatic.

Stanley scoffed. “Me? I’m not the one who started it Mr. my-nose-is-too-big-to-kiss-properly. It took ya three tries ta even get my lips.”

Fiddleford’s skin turned pink, his non-proportionate nose facing the air, “Well I wasn’t the one who smelt like bad nachos.”

“We were walking back from the diner and they were having a nachos special. What do ya want from me?” Grunkle Stan grumbled, throwing his hands out and lifting his shoulders. But even the kids could see the smile worming onto his face. Fiddleford copied the motion and soon they were two old geezers smiling at each other, their faces soft after years of wear and tear. Without them even noticing Dipper and Mabel were sneaking out, their worn socks light on the floorboards.

“C’mon.” Mabel whispered to Dipper who paused at the threshold. He stared at his notepad, empty for a few scribbles, “let’s leave them to their memories.”

Dipper took one look back at the room. Grunkle Stan was tugging Mr. Mcgucket to the armchair, his arms wide open. Mr. Mcgucket let him, his smile fond as he returned the warm embrace. "Okay," Dipper said, as he pocketed the notepad, "but just this once."


	5. Supernatural

“Don’t trust him Mabel. He might not even be our Grunkle!” Dipper yelled, the wind from the portal whipping against his face, his bangs lifting just enough so that the bottom edge of his birthmark appeared.

Mabel looked between her brother and her grunkle but in the end neither swayed her. Just by looking at Mr. Mcgucket’s sincere face, she chose. Where Grunkle Stan's face was nothing but repent and desperation, his eyes baggier than she’d ever seen on the old man, Dipper was nothing but righteous anger. Anger that she had never seen before from her twin and that scared her.

Mcgucket was somehow a mixture of the two, a deep sadness in his eyes but a bitter line to his lips. He said nothing to her, not to plead and not to demand but to be there. She knew he must’ve been working on the portal with her grunkle, knew he must’ve known the consequences. And yet…

“I trust you.” Mabel said, letting go and floating upward, her tears still glistening in the light of the portal. The light that became so blinding that for an instance it was as if the world ended, floating in an endless white void.

And then gravity happened. They all fell with a suddenness and like that the blinding light wasn’t so bright.

And then someone stepped through the portal.

\---------------------

After Stanford stepped through the portal things became a little hectic. There were stories to tell and agents to avoid, adjustments to grow used to and sick of.

Dipper still had the gun. The gun that drove him to his insanity. His hands almost twitched to touch it again, to erase a memory one last time. He didn’t even know what memory he wanted to erase, nothing bad happened so far. And yet, the itch was still there, thirty years later.

At the end of the day the elder Pine twins still couldn’t agree on anything. Fiddleford didn’t mean to eavesdrop but their voices carried. He wanted to bash in the two numbskulls, tell them to work it out or get dumped in a broom closet lord almighty so help him. But, this was a new generation, a scary one where former friends are strangers long past the stifling classification of acquaintances. To intrude would be too much of a wild card.

So Fiddleford made up his mind. He packed his small belongings and when Stanley asked where he was going, he smiled and said. “Tate and I have been getting along better now and he offered to house me. I haven’t seen him in so long so…”

Stanley smiled but the lines on his face were deep. Stanley shrugged in a, “What can you do manner” and leaned forward to place a soft kiss to Fiddleford’s cheek. Fiddleford wanted to tell him to stop looking so bittersweet.

“Take care of yourself Fidds.”

“You too Stanley.” Fiddleford said, as he backed off the porch. Behind him the afternoon sun dropping to an evening sunset. Stanley watched as Fiddleford started walking away, with only his Duffel bag as luggage, a gnawing in his gut along with all the other nasty feelings Stanford's return gave him. What was he doing? He wasn't about to  just let Fidds walk away was he?

With a vigor in his old bones, Stanley grabbed his coat jacket and his keys, closing the door behind him. “Let me drive you to your son’s.” Stanley called, leading the way to his car.

Fiddleford let him, knowing he needed a distraction, and depending on how this played out, to spend some more moments with his boyfriend.

From the window, Stanford watched as his former lab assistant and twin brother drove off, Stanley’s arm draped over Fiddleford’s shoulder, clear even from a distance through a car window.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the chapter I liked the most but eh.


	6. Water

With Fiddleford more settled in his son’s house, in an attempt to restore old bonds (and get away from the tension that was the elder pine brothers under one roof, despite Stanford’s gracious invitation to continue to stay in his house). Stanley, of course, found more time to spend at the lake. (Also, in an attempt to get away from his brother).

They spent lazy afternoons on the Stan O’ War, fishing hats tipped downward as they laid back. Sometimes they’d fish but more often than not they’d pass the time by exchange lazy kisses under a passing cloud, far away from the other boats. As the gentle breeze passed and they drank beers on the lake it was as if it was early retirement.

Sometimes Stanley would spot Fiddleford's son on the piers when it was slow out. He could never tell if the kid was looking at them or not with the long bangs and the cap but Stanley didn't care. He'd elbow Fiddleford and point to his son on the pier and Fiddleford would wave and either he ("Tate. My son's name is Tate.") would wave back (which would mean he was staring) or not (which meant that he wasn't).  

Stanley didn't know if his boyfriend told his son of their relationship but by know little Mcgucket knew all about it. Good. He was old and sick of lying to everyone he knew. Let this be the one thing he could be truthful about.

As it turned out it was neither. Shame. Stan wanted a chance to pay back the blow Ford dealt in the basement.

They were laughing about some joke Stanley made, just about to pack up for the day. The sun was still out but it was reaching the edge of the tall mountains, right about now they’d be pecking each other goodbye. And they would've, if it weren’t for Stanford staring straight at them.

“Did you need me for anything Ford?” Fiddleford asked, his fishing pole in his hand and one of Tate’s old caps on his head. Sometimes Stanford would ask for Fiddleford’s help in the basement. After Fiddleford was sure it wasn’t any portal business, (Ford never said sorry but he tore down the portal, that was enough), he obliged. They never talked to each other about what they were going to say to Ford and the kids never brought it up either; Dipper too occupied asking questions about the journals and Mabel too occupied knitting sweaters for Ford. Stan had the philosophy to let whatever happen happen come hell or high water.

“No,” Stanford said, “I actually wanted to talk with Stanley.”

“Oh.” Fiddleford said. He edged around the two of them, his eyes asking questions but Stanley doesn’t have the answers. Still staring straight at his twin, Ford called, “And say hi to Tate for me would ya?”

“Sure thing.” Fiddleford said with a weird look on his face as he walked the short distance towards his son’s fishing supplies store.

“Any reason this couldn’t wait until I got back home?” Stanley asked, the content feeling that was glowing through his core dissipating as he stared at his brother.

“Look, I know.” Ford said, “I know about you and Fiddleford.”

“And?” Stanley asked with a pointed eyebrow, his arms crossed over his chest.

“And I’m okay with it.” Ford said with a shrug.

“Just because I’m not-” Stanley paused, staring at his brother with wide eyes, “Wait what.”

“I mean it’s kind of obvious and even if it wasn’t it was bound to happen.”

“Huh.” Stanley said, uncrossing his arms to adjust his glasses and give his brother a proper look. He was wearing a lab coat, goggles across his neck, his hair wind-swept and his eyes bagged down. There was a smell to him, chemicals and the thick smell of an explosion.

“What’s with the get up?"

“Mabel kicked me out.” Ford replied with a sheepish smile, “Said I spent too much time stuck indoors.” Ford walked to the end of the pier, then began to sat down, his eyes to the slow setting sun, “I think she was right.”

Stanley felt something climb up his throat as he looked at his brother's seated back. He tried to swallow around it but it was too hard, memories of endless days on the beach drifted into his mind - and he let it, for a moment - before forcing them behind the hidden doors where they belonged. He approached Ford with careful steps and sat next to him, not at all surprised when it seemed he had a harder time bending down than Ford did.

“So what, now you’re taking orders from a twelve year old?”

“She made a pretty convincing argument. Did you know she has a military grade grappling hook?” Stanley could feel the stare at the side of his face but he didn’t dare look into his twin’s eyes.  Instead he focused on the little spot him and Fidds liked to drive the boat to and make out - fish at. “I wonder where she got that from.”

Stanley whistled, “I wonder.” He took a peek towards his right, surprised when Ford’s smile greeted his face. It didn't take long to feel his own facial muscles twitching to make a smile. Now the memories of two boys throwing rocks off the pier of a New Jersey beach didn’t seem so bad.

“So that’s it? You’re out here because a twelve year old little girl threatened you with a military grade grappling hook?”

“More or less.” Ford said with a shrug, his feet laid in front of him and his hands on the rickety dock, stretching like a cat in the shade. “Plus I want to see what’s changed around town, if there was any new anomalies in my absence, and it seemed like a good idea to come here. Sorry if I ruined a date with your husband.”

“We’re not married.” Stanley said, his fingers wiggling as he displayed his left hand.

“Not yet anyway.” Ford muttered, but with the quietness of the lake and the fact that everyone packed for an hour ago, it was loud enough to hear.

“What does that mean?” Stanley asked.

“Just some other dimension stuff. Don’t worry about it.” Ford said with the flop of his hand. He lowered himself, cushioning his head with his arms as he laid flat on the pier. Stan leaned over him, his heart thumping at the small admission.

“What do you mean ‘other dimension stuff’? What, is it nerd speak?”

“If you must know, this isn’t the first dimension you two were romantically involved. You see I’ve seen many things in my travels: dimensions where things were completely different, where the laws of physics and science as we know it were completely rearranged or blasted to bits.”

As if he'd never changed at all, Stanford’s fingers started moving as he got more into it, explaining something beyond Stanley comprehension. Something Stanley would never understand. Instead of making fun of it like he wanted to, to cover the stabbing feeling in his chest, Stanley laid down next to his brother and listened, watching Ford’s fingers fly with the backdrop of the orange sky going darker.

“-and there are the universes where it’s almost exactly the same if it weren’t just for one detail. Or maybe several details. And it expands. Like- like,”

Ford’s hands were making a grabbing motion, an old habit he used to do every time he was trying to explain something complex in simpler terms but couldn’t find the words. Overcome with burdening nostalgia, Stanley closed his eyes and said, “Ripple effect.”

“Yes! Yes, like a ripple effect.” Stanley let Ford’s words wash over him, the hardwood of the pier cushioning his head and back, a slight chill from the breezy wind making it easy for him to never open his eyes again.

When Ford stopped talking, his words petering out, Stan asked, “So me and Fidds are together in a lot of dimensions?”

“Yes. Not all of them, mind you, but of the 18 I visited you two were a couple in 13.5 of them.”

“Point five?”

“You two were having a lover’s spat before I left but I’m sure you made up in the end.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You must’ve had a babe in one of your alternate dimensions. Or a dude. Or whatever you’re into.” Stanley shrugged, ”No judgement. I almost got married to an inanimate object in Vegas.” He blinked open one eye and gave a teasing grin but instead of smiling back Ford looked upward, the stars finally peeking out as it turned into night. A single six fingered hand raised toward the sky and stars twinkled around it but it seemed as if Ford was reaching for some special part of the cosmos. A star brighter than all the others.

“I did.” Ford said and no more.

Stanley didn’t ask.

They stayed for a little while more, Stanley trying to bring up the mood and sometimes succeeding and sometimes falling flat on his face. Until finally they dusted off and headed home in Stanley’s car, thier faces lined but their hearts lightened. After that they came to a sort of silent agreement, every weekend, no matter what was going on, they’d head off to the lake and tried their best not to argue. Three old cruds and a box of creepy fish lures.

For all the shit, the lies, the mistrust, the _pain_ , it was the most relaxed the three of them felt in years. It was perfect.

Well, almost perfect.

“Just because I don’t mind you two going out doesn’t mean I’m not uncomfortable when you two are all-” Ford’s frown turned the littlest bit downward, “ _affectionate_ like that.” Ford stated from the other side of the boat, his face a total deadpan. Across from him Fiddleford was a scoot from being in Stanley’s lap, the larger male’s arms locked around the smaller’s male waist. Stanley had been pressing kisses to his boyfriend’s neck for the past few minutes. Fiddleford giggling as it tickled his skin.

“Can it nerd, I’ve got thirty years to make up for.”

—————————-

OMAKE

“So wait, there’s an alternate universe where Grunkle Stan’s a boxing champion and Mr. Mcgucket is his fan who becomes his boyfriend?” Mabel asked, her fists shaking as she bit her bottom lip. It was a Sunday morning and somehow Mabel found out about the alternate universes. And of course, she wanted her Grunkle Ford to tell all the juicy details.

In an attempt to teach Mabel science, somehow Ford never expected this to be the end result.

“Tell me more!”

And because he was an old man who loved his great niece Ford continued, “Well there was that one dimension where Stanley and Fiddleford were married  for twenty five years-”

“THEY GOT MARRIED!?” Mabel screeched, her eyes rolling upward as her chest heaved. “Ibetthatwassocuteohgoshthatmust’vebeensocute. WasIbornyet?WasIflowergirl?Ohgoshohmygoshohmygosh.”

Ford, who put his hands over his delicate old man ears said, “It was in a dimension homosexuality was more accepted. Sorry, I don’t think you were born yet.”

Mabel stopped, her eyes staring straight into her grunkle’s . Ford tried to look for a way out but didn't want to be rude. She gestured him to get down and he did, kneeling to get to her eye level. With a finality to her movements, she placed both her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them with all her might, which was a lot for a twelve year old.

Leaning close she whispered, “We must fix this.”

Feeling like he was a part of some super secret meeting, Ford leaned closer, “What?”

“We must fix this.” Mabel repeated. Her eyes, if anything, becoming more intense.

“What?” Ford asked, leaning backward. “You’re not making any sense my dear.” Man was her grip strong.

Without warning, a huge grin replaced the intense look on her face, “WE MUST THROW THEM A WEDDING.” She yelled, throwing her hands in the air. She was lit up, her smile so big it couldn’t have gotten any wider if she tried and her head thrown back as if she were to fall over any minute.

Ford laughed but tried to cover it up with his hand. “Mabel, dear, you don’t throw people’s weddings. You get invited to them.”

“Oh, I know that.” Mabel said with a flap of her hands and a ‘pssh.’ “But since it’s already happened in an alternate universe then it’s only a matter of time before it happens in this universe right? I’m just speeding things up a bit.” She said with an unflappable grin.

“Honey-”

“Nope. Too late. I need to call Grenda and Candy to help with the decorations.” And with that Mabel skipped from the living room, going to the phone in the hallway.

 

 


	7. Closure

“Hey kids, have any of you seen your Grunkle Ford? He’s not in the basement.” Stanley asked, throwing his car keys up and down in the air. He walked into the living room and both he and Fiddleford stopped at the sight before them.

Fabric, fabric everywhere, and spool thread, and scissors, and lots and lots of staplers. The smell of plastic burning was also running through the air, making it a wonder how they didn’t smell the trouble sooner.

“Uhh.” Stanley said, his eyes narrowing at the mess in his (technically his brother’s) living room. “What's this?”

“Hey Grunkle Ford,” Mabel stood over her grunkle who was bent over some catalog, holding two pieces of fabric, one pink, the other a silvery white, “Which do you think I should make the dress out of?”

Ford glanced up, adjusting his glasses as he took in the two fabrics. “The pink. It reminds me of Stanley’s prom tux.”

“Thanks!” Mabel said before going back to Grenda and Candy situated near the glue gun. They giggled a bit. Candy had tape stuck all along her face and Grenda was stapling something with a passion, her tongue stuck out and sweat dripping off all three girls' faces.

Dipper in the corner of the room, was talking to Wendy about…cakes?

“What’s going on here?” Fiddleford asked, stepping inside the room to take a closer look.

“And why does it have to happen where we watch TV?” Stanley added.

“We’re planning your wedding!” Mabel said, pieces of lint and a thread of pink yarn in her hair. She waved a bit of pink fabric around as if that was to make it any more clear.

“What.”

“Congrats on your marriage Mister Pines.” Wendy said as all the occupants of the room came to surround him and Fiddleford with sparkles in their eyes.

“Yeah. This is gonna be so awesome!” Grenda said.

“Congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials.” Candy said with a bow of her head.

“Congrats Grunkle Stan.” Dipper said, no devious little spark in his eyes to say it was a joke, no hidden fingers, no…visible deceit. Just a guileless smile and a proud look in his eye. Stanley didn't know why but it set him on edge. What were the kids up to?

Only one way to find out.

“Ford,” Stanley drew out, turning to stare at his quiet brother, “What’s going on?”

“And what’s this about a wedding?” Fiddleford asked.

Ford shrunk under their collective gaze. Standing to his feet and wiping lint, yarn and who knows what else from his person, he explained, “Well you see Mabel and I were talking earlier about alternate universes. She wanted to know about the varying differences, if there was a dimension consisting solely of cute boys and whether she could go there- and somehow we came upon the topic of you two.”

“Go on.” Stanley said, crossing his arms and giving his brother the stink eye. Ford averted his eyes.

“Well I told her about some of your alternate selves and how one pair of you were married for some years-”

“and I thought-” Mabel continued, “if they were married in one alternate universe. Why can’t they be married in real prime universe!” She tilted her head, smiling cajolingly , “Huh? Huhhh. Good idea right?”

“So wait,” Dipper eyes squinted, looking between Stanley and Mr.Mcgucket, “Grunkle Stan didn’t propose to Mr. Mcgucket?”

Stanley sighed and said “No,” at the same time Mabel exclaimed, “Not yet!”

“Why didn’t you stop this sooner?’ Fiddleford asked Ford who had, now that he was looking,  a tuxedo magazine near his feet.

Ford shrugged in a helpless manner, “She already had the glue gun out.”

“I can’t believe you.” Stanley grumbled.

“Better than being married to a coin machine.”

“Hey, almost being married to a coin machine.”

“Besides, if I have to sit across from you being all fond of each other, it might as well be while you two are married.”

“Nice logic pointdexter. You do science with that?”

“So it’s okay? We can throw a wedding for you?” Mabel asked, looking between the adults in the room, her large eyes looking round and prone to vulnerability. Stanley almost caved at the sight of it.

“Look Mabel sweetie,” Stan knelt next to her, putting a large hand on her shoulder, “you can’t just throw people weddings without asking. I mean, we don’t even have rings. Fiddlesticks here doesn’t even have a suit.”

“I mean,” Grenda said from the background, “it’s not like you two are getting any younger. Get hitched now, I say.” Everyone around the room nodded in agreement, murmuring a few, "too true"'s and, "when you put it that way".

“Thank you Grenda,” Fiddleford said, “for those kind words. But I’m going to have to agree with your grunkle. It’s a little too…sudden.”

“But…” and oh no, Mabel’s lower lip was wobbling, “I already brought out the glue gun.”

Wendy, bless her terrible teenage heart, bent down behind Mabel and turned her around. “Mabel I love your enthusiasm but you should’ve asked first before deciding to throw a wedding. It’s not cool to force a blind date on people, much less an entire y'know vow for life.”

“I know…” Mabel said, bowing her head. “I guess I just got a little excited.” Coming up behind her, Dipper patted her shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face. “You can always plan my wedding.” He offered.

“Yeah,” Mabel said, shoulders slumped, “I just… I just wanted to-” Her sentence fell off.

Stanley looked back to Fiddleford whose eyes were looking at Mabel’s bowed head. His fingers were fumbling with each other, a frown tugging at his lips. Stanley looked back at Mabel and cursed himself for what he was about to say, “Y’know it’s not like it’s a bad idea…”

Instantly the whole room was looking at him, including, he could feel, Fiddleford.

“I mean it won’t be official until the government gets their heads out of their a-” Stanley backtracked then continued, “butts - but yeah. Yeah, a wedding sounds nice.” There was more. More words he should say, something eloquent, or-or rambunctious, but his lips were forming empty sounds and his silver tongue ran out of liquid metal. So, along with every other pair of eyes in the room, he stared at Fiddleford.

Instead of the hand-fiddling boyfriend he was expecting he found a cocky-eyed lover staring right back at him. “If that’s your idea of a proposal Stan it’s a darn cruddy one.” Fiddleford’s smile grew just the littlest bit wider, “But yes. I’ll marry you.”

Whoops and congratulations filled the room. Overcome with a warm feeling in his chest and a racing heart Stanley took Fiddleford by the waist and kissed him with all the energy he had.  Much to the appreciation of most of the room.

Most meaning everyone except Stanford who muttered a low, “Get a room.”

Stanley would’ve him a rude gesture but there were kids in the room. Plus he was too busy smacking lips with his- fiance? They still needed to get rings. Hot belgian waffles.

When they finally surfaced for air, there were two matching grins on their faces.

“Phew,” Mabel said, watching the two with an enormous grin, “it’s a good thing you guys agreed. I don’t think we would’ve been able to stop Soos in time from sending out the invitations.”

And in a heartbeat the elation Stanley was feeling dropped low into a  cold pit, growing colder by the second.

“Invitations?” Fiddleford asked.

“Yeah. We invited the whole town for your guys’ wedding. It’s gonna be great!” Mabel said. Both the adults in the room looked at Ford.

“Don’t look at me, I wasn’t in the room for that part!”

Both adults looked at Wendy. She raised her hands, palms open, “Hey, I thought you two were really getting married.”

“You didn’t think it was a li’l suspicious that we’d have our wedding planned by twelve year olds?” Fiddleford asked.

Wendy shrugged, “I thought so for a little bit but then I realized it would’ve been cheaper and- well…” She tilted her head to her boss who stared back unamused.

“She does have a point.” Ford said.

Stanley raised his hand to massage his temples. “What did the invitations say exactly?” He ground out.

“The original is somewhere in here.” Mabel looked around the fabric and magazine ridden floor. “Candy?”

“Here.” Candy said, producing a piece of paper folded in half. Stanley took it with trepidation, noticing the uneven scribblings of a twelve year old. On the front was a colored doodle of him and Fiddleford holding hands,  captioned as, “You are invited to a Pines-Mcgucket Wedding.”

Fiddleford, next to him commented, “It’s a wonderful drawing darlin’.”

Opening the card, Stanley read allowed, “You are invited to a Pines-Mcgucket wedding. At the Mystery Shack, Sunday. Bring gifts.” Under it was another drawing except this time it was Stanford in his usual tux and Fiddleford in a white dress, holding flowers.

“Kid, how many invitations did you send?” Stanley asked with trepidation.

“Well we sent some to Lazy Susan and Wendy’s family, oh- and to Soos’ abuelita, and to Tyler, and Sheriff Blubbs and Deputy Durland and Mermando-” Mabel counted on her fingers.

“and to Thompson and Robbie and Nate and Lee and Tambry,” Wendy continued.

“and Marius and Sev’ral Times and Toby Determined and Shandra Jimanez and Woodpecker guy,” Grenda continued some more.

“and Blendin- but I don’t think he can come- and the Love God and the mayor and biker guy and Quentin Trembley,” Dipper said, his eyes lifting upwards and right in thought.

“and free pizza shirt man and,” Candy squinted at the long list of names she produced from behind the TV set, “Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle and Mr. Mcgucket’s son of course-”

“Okay okay I get it! You invited the whole town.” Stanley said, “Just tell me you didn’t invite the Gleefuls.”

Candy’s eyes skimmed the list, “They’re not on the list. Should I add them?”

“We can copy the original and send them one.” Wendy said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“No.” Dipper, Mabel, and Stanley said all at once.

“Um,” Fiddleford started, looking at the invitation, “by ‘Sunday’ do you mean next Sunday?”

“Uh huh.” Mabel affirmed.

“How’re we going to make a wedding by next Sunday?” Stanley asked.

Just then the sounds of someone talking came closer as well as prominent footfalls. Like boots against floorboard.

“-and I want the caterers to come by tomorrow. What? I don’t care if they’re too busy! Tell them their life and career depends on it.” Said one Pacifica Northwest as she entered the room. “Ugh.” She said as she pocketed her phone, “Good help is so hard to find these days.”

Mabel perked up, an easy smile coming to her face. She threw her arms around the blonde girl, their cheeks squishing together. “Thanks so much for helping Pacifica!”

Pacifica grimaced as Mabel squeezed her, trying her best to escape the hug but having no luck. “Yes, yes, don’t mention it. Like, literally don’t mention it. My parents would kill if they knew I was using my allowance money to help the poor.”

“Just gonna ignore that.” Dipper said as Ford mouthed, “Allowance money?” to himself.

“So this is the happy couple?” Pacifica asked as Mabel let her go, her eyes scrutinizing Fiddleford and Stanley. Fiddleford stamped the childish urge to hide behind his boyfri - fiance, as the child seemed to find every flaw on his skin.

After a good, long stare directed at Fiddleford's nose, Pacifica turned away, with a, “We’ll need a lot more help than I thought,” and with that she pulled out her -no doubt expensive - smartphone to call some other chump.

“This is going to be great!” Mabel said with certainty.

“Oy vay.” Stanley said, tilting his head back. Well, at least there was a bright side to this. At least he didn’t have to pay for most of it.

———————————————————————————–

The wedding of course went off without a hitch. Except for the part where Dipper and Mabel thought bringing fairies would be more magical. (Turns out fairies favorite pastimes was destroying weddings, who knew?) And the part where the especially made suit for Fiddleford turned out to be a white dress, which while Stanley loved it, Fiddleford demanded himself a tux the day of the wedding. And the part where the rings were getting a little late arriving the mail, “I told you.” Said Pacifica, “if you just accepted the 50 karat diamond ring we could’ve had it deliver in a few hours. I can’t believe you chose that cheap ring.” (Which made no sense whatsoever but she was paying so...)

And then there was the seating mix ups, the nervous and crying bestman,“Soos get a hold of yourself!” and- and…

Stanley just wanted to get it over with at this point.

“Are you even an official priest?” Stanley murmured to Ford who stood next to him on under the white canopy outside the Mystery Shack. The whole town was murmuring with each other, waiting for the procession to start. Stanley fumbled with his cuffs a bit, not used to this expensive monstrosity the littlest Northwest bought for him. He was pretty sure the cuff links alone could’ve paid off the twins’ college education.

Ford dressed in what could be a priest outfit - if said priest outfit included a belt with a gun holster and gun and a large monochrome trenchcoat - said with a grin, “Yup. In dimension 4Z-Prime. Good times.” He nodded, his eyes closed in some weird sci-fi nostalgia, “Good times.”

“You just made that number up.”

“You can’t prove that. Oh," Ford said, elbowing Stanley, "here he comes.”  The music started and Mabel came through the aisle, her homemade pink dress making her even cuter than usual. She walked forward, throwing petals onto the manicured grass. It wasn't exactly, graceful throwing, more confetti throwing, which was appropriate seeing as how half the petals in the basket were actual confetti and glitter.

She said it would be more fun that way. Who were they to disagree?

Then Fiddleford was there, his arm held in his son’s as they walked toward the canopy. He stared straight ahead but even from down the aisle Stanley could see the lightest dusting of pink across his cheeks. He cleaned up nice. His groomed beard and his new glasses along with the suit Pacifica picked out for him, white like fallen snow, like his beard, giving him a sophisticated feel. An older gentleman in waiting.

Everyone was muttering as Fiddleford walked, “That’s Old Man Mcgucket.” “Cleans up awfully nice doesn't he? Wouldn’t have recognized him.” “I wonder how long they’ve been dating.” He ignored it though, with the help of Tate's reassuring squeezes on his arm.  His eyes focused on Stanley who was looking at him from across the lawn. Stanley was smiling, encouraging, while still trying to wipe his palms on his pant legs. It  left Fiddleford with a pound in his chest and a flutter in his stomach.

For all the hiccups before the wedding, the priest’s speech and the ring exchanging went without a hitch. Of course, Ford had to make it weird with some added lines about space and the universe and whatever else crazy nerd shit Ford learned but besides that it was good. Great even. Almost throwing out his back trying to dip Fiddleford as he kissed him was definitely worth it.

The cake was good, some expensive thing Northwest ordered for them that was five layers too tall and every kind of rainbow flavor that would have the kids sick with sugar high. The music was nostalgic, old time jazz and funky blues and the slow kind of dance you can waltz to and yet somehow Stanley only wanted to hear banjo strings. They posed for pictures, danced till their old men bones were creaking and smiled with the intensity of a conjoining flame, their gold wedding bands glinting in the summer sun.

“So,” Stanley asked later as they drove through the town in the Stanmobile, “best wedding or what?”

Fiddleford hummed, a blissful smile on his face as he stroked the wedding band on his ring finger, “I don’t know, I reckon my first wedding was kind of impressive. I mean, we actually planned that one out.”

“Yeah but your first wedding didn’t have a giant ice sculpture of you paid by a 12 year-old now did it? Or fairy attacks,” Stan continued, “or a pig and a goat tied together with duct tape, or a nerd priest?”

“No,” Fiddleford chuckled, the mirth from the wedding still baking in his belly, ”it didn’t have any of those.”

“See? This wedding was better.” And they laughed together, their quiet laughter drowning out the even quieter radio.

“I love you.” Fiddleford said afterward, as he stared at his husband unabashed.

“Love you too Fidds,” Stanley said, his eyes still focused on the road as his right hand crept along his husband’s thigh to intertwine their hands. Stanley squeezed and Fiddleford squeezed back. They didn't let go until Stanley had to make a turn and even then the warmth lingered in their palms.

All was quiet for a while, the light posts from the sleepy town turning on as the evening grew darker. The radio was crooning some slow song, a sure lullaby for the drowsy. Fiddleford rested his eyes for a moment, letting his excitement from the day’s activities escape with every breath, before they popped open

“Stanley?” Fiddleford asked, only a little louder than the hushed radio. He looked at the exit sign in coming closer in front of them.

“Yes?” Stanley asked, his large hand still crossed with Fiddleford’s own.

“You didn’t plan for the honeymoon did you?”

“Nope.”

“So where exactly are we going, might I ask?”

“I was thinking Vegas.” Stanley said with a shit-eating grin, “Don’t worry, I left Ford’s infinity dice in the lab. No random wizards or goblins or other nerd stuff.”

“I’ll have you know Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons is a respectable game when it’s not- well, when it's not real."

“Pfft.” Stanley snorted, trying not to giggle when Fiddleford pushed him in the shoulder. They exchanged a few side arm tickles, a few punches that were more like feather light brushes against skin, and then finally Fiddleford laid back in his seat, his eyelids closing and his breath deepening.

Stanley smiled as he took in Fiddleford’s sleeping body from his peripheral. “I love you Fidds.” He whispered to the car radio.

—–

When Fiddleford woke up they were at a gas station, Stanley was saying something about restroom break and half-way there. Fiddleford stretched as far as he could as he woke up, the sun low in the morning sky. Finding that his seat was all the way down as he stretched made Fiddleford pleased; as opposed to the ninety degree angle position he knew he laid down in. He was also pleased to find he had a blanket thrown over him and a pillow under his head; his glasses, he found sitting on the dashboard.

He didn’t say anything though until they came back from their little rest stop, candy and chips in their arms as they returned to the car.

“Let me drive. You must be exhausted.” Fiddleford said, already sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Sure.” Stanley said with a shrug. He got into the passenger seat, buckled up and waited for Fiddleford to go. When he didn’t he turned to Fiddleford with curious eyes. Did the older man forget how to drive? Better yet, did he even have a driver’s license at this point? It would be expired wouldn't it? (Not that Stanley was one to talk about expired documents).

Just as he was about to ask, warm lips met his. The feeling of a thick beard, thicker than his morning stubble, rubbed against his chin and cheek, and a hand came to cup his chin. The kiss started gentle, a feel of lips but then a tongue was poking at his lips and Stanley opened up. It was a little awkward, the convertible was a little hot and it was small and the air conditioning only allowed for stiff air but with your husband kissing you, you tended to forget all that.

They made out for a good bit, heated tongues and little nips and rough stubble until Fiddleford drew back and started the car. He pulled out of the gas station and went back on the highway, humming some song that was on the radio. It was silent for a bit and then…

“That’s it?”

Fiddleford, with a drawn out grin didn’t respond. He turned the handle on his door and cranked the window down, letting the wind cool down his heating face.

“You tease!”

“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout Stanley.”

“Just wait until I get you into the hotel.” Stanley grumbled, shifting around in the passenger seat.

“That’s the plan.” Fiddleford said, letting his smile widen.

 

 


End file.
